Page 76 of Fire

Dillan’s eyes tracked him as he came into the room, followed him as he went to lean his ass against the desk. He purposefully relaxed his stance, placing the heels of his palms on the desk’s edge and stretched his legs out, crossing his feet at the ankles.

His silence was making Dillan nervous. He could tell by the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and the way he never blinked.

Blake let him stew for another moment before he growled menacingly, “You dared touch what’s mine.”

Dillan shook his head back and forth as he stuttered, “I… I didn’t know sh… she was yours.”

“You dare touch any woman against her will,” he snapped.

“She would’ve enjoyed it, I sw… swear.”

Another growl escaped his lips, and Dillan realized his mistake, his eyes going wide. “I mean, they all do.”

The guy was a fucking idiot. “I wonder how easy it would be for a washed-up actor to get his dick wet?”

“Wa… washed up?”

Blake’s eyes narrowed, and his voice was hard when he said, “Funny how fast an assault tape can go viral. Almost as fast as a career can go down the toilet.”

“Tape?”

Blake gave him a thin smile and with a nod to one of his security men, all the screens in the room started playing out the scene of the attack. Blake’s jaw hardened as he watched. They were lucky to have gotten more than just the fucker’s profile before he’d given the camera his back. Gwen’s face was barely discernible, but they’d blur it anyway.

Blake stood. His job was done, and he wanted to get back to Gwen. But he did have one more thing to say before he left. He stopped right in front of Dillan’s chair, looking down on him. “I’ll be watching. You step one foot out of line, lay one finger on any woman who doesn’t want your attention, and things will be much worse than you losing your job. Do we understand each other?” At the guy’s jerky nod, he produced an evil smile. “Good.”

Chapter 19

Gwen had a feeling of déjà vu as Blake pulled into his parking spot, helped her out of the car, and escorted her to the elevator.

He’d been quiet on the drive back to his place, but then, so had she, and she wondered if it had been for the same reason—afraid of lighting a fuse that might set a bomb off in her face.

Although, when she’d chanced a glance at him, he looked relaxed, his concentration on the road. She, on the other hand, had been a bundle of nerves, not knowing what to expect.

His apartment was exactly as she remembered—neat as a pin with zero personality. She wasn’t sure why she expected anything different after only two weeks, but deep down, she guessed she hoped it would be a mess, proving his life was in as much of an upheaval as hers was.

He stopped in the foyer. “Can I get you something to drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

He led her to the couch, but this time, instead of sitting in the chair across from it, he sat on the cushion next to her. His eyes zeroed in on her cheek, and she wondered if it was still red.

His finger touched the side of her face. “I can still see his mark on you.”

Guess that answered her question.

His jaw was stone, his eyes hard, and she could see he fought an inner battle. She just wasn’t sure what he was fighting. “Promise me you’re okay.”

“I was scared, there at the end, when I couldn’t get him to stop,” she told him, honestly. “But I’m okay now.” The truth again.

Anger made his words gruff when he said, “I hate that he had his hands on you. I feel like that’s my fault.”

And his internal struggle was revealed.

But he wasn’t to blame. “How could it be your fault?”

“I should have been there sooner.” Regret replaced his anger. She could tell by the way it softened his eyes, thinned his lips, and slumped his shoulders.

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